


When the World Ends

by nautilicious



Series: Touchstone [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Cunnilingus, Curry, F/M, Fucking, Het, Heterosexual Sex, Movie Night, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tide has come in for Natasha, too, and Steve's care anchors her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the World Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Roane for answering MCU questions and for doing a kind, thorough beta; Evith for helping me figure out Steve’s sexuality; and Sandy for tirelessly re-watching CA:TWS to suss out important details. Thanks to the Antidiogenes folks for putting up with my random weirdness in chat, not to mention specific flailing for this story.

Natasha finds Steve in his apartment frowning at a half-packed box of books. She sits in the window, watches him stare into space. She’s seen this mood before: he's got his Man Out of Time face on, feeling the weight of his losses and the uncertainty of his future. Natasha knows better than to expect a heart to stay true or fragile flesh to stay whole, but Steve puts his trust in people, pledges his loyalty; this is the second world that he’s lost.

Natasha understands. Even she hasn’t quite found her feet yet. She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’s come here for reassurance, however illusory she knows it to be: after the world turned upside down, Steve’s strong and steady presence seems like one of the only things left standing.

She knocks against the wall. He turns, tense until he identifies her, trying and failing to smile. “Natasha. Is something wrong?”

“Did you pack your DVD player yet?” she asks.

He blinks at her. “No, why?”

Natasha enters through the window. Steve’s eyes widen as she comes into the light: she’s as out of uniform as he has ever seen her, wearing soft sleep pants with martini glasses on them and a black cami top.

“Are those—are those your pajamas?”

“Movie night, Rogers.” Natasha settles herself on the couch, slips off her shoes. She’s thrown him a bit, not like that’s hard to do, and it amuses her. “Go on, get changed. I brought curry.”

Steve stares at her a moment more, then obeys. He exits the bedroom wearing grey sweat pants and a tank top. He insists on finding them plates and utensils to use even though he’s already packed most of the kitchen.

“I’m not really going to miss this apartment,” he says once they’ve portioned out the food. “It never really felt like mine.”

“You going to stay with Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “At least, until we know where we’re going.” He looks at her, a question in his eyes, and she shakes her head.

“My currency isn’t so good any more,” she says. “Most of the favors I’m owed are all over the internet now.” His face falls. Natasha can’t stand that kicked puppy dog look.

“I’ve got to find him,” Steve says. “I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll get you something. I owe you,” Natasha begins. He makes as if to argue but she shakes her head. “I owe you and I will for a while. But info on Barnes isn’t part of that. That’s between me and the people who made us.”

Steve looks at her searchingly. Natasha can imagine the story of redemption and revenge he tells himself, with her as the damaged heroine. She knows that the Red Room made her as much of a weapon as the Winter Soldier, but she lets Steve have his illusions. Natasha wishes she were the person he imagines, wants to inhabit a story where suffering has made her noble. Though it goes against everything life has taught her, she can’t help wanting to give Steve a part of herself for safekeeping. He would cherish it; he would stand for her.

None of this shows on her face. She dips her naan in the last dregs of korma sauce, tucks it into her mouth. They finish the food in silence. Steve clears the dishes as soon as she’s emptied her plate.

“So,” he says. “Movie night, really?”

She retrieves the DVD from her bag and waggles it at him. “When was the last time you did something normal? We’re both about to be on missions again, in one way or another. Might as well take it easy when we can.”

“You do ‘normal’?” Steve asks.

She shrugs, cues up the DVD. “Sometimes it’s nice.” They settle back on the couch. It’s a loveseat so there’s nowhere for Steve to comfortably put his arm except along the back. This suits Natasha fine.

She waits for Steve’s inevitable comment, which comes just after the title sequence. “It’s a cartoon.” His tone is a mix of surprise and disbelief, but not dismissal, and she smiles to herself.

“Anime, Rogers. Possibly the best American anime, as a matter of fact.”

He gives her a look.

“Clint has a thing.” Natasha says.

“A thing.” Steve makes it sound like a dirty word and she almost laughs.

“He’s seen way too much anime. Don’t ever ask him about it if you have anywhere to be,” she says.

Steve shifts on the couch. “What’s the deal with you guys, anyway?” He asks the question casually, but she can tell he’s dying to know.

“Well, we’re not about to live together, unlike you and Sam,” she retorts. She gives him a sly glance. “Sam likes anime, too. If you care about what Sam likes. Maybe you should ask Clint after all.”

Steve makes a face that he probably intends to be neutral. In it she can see uncertainty and interest both, and she knows there’s likely some guilt underneath. “It’s not like that,” he says.

“Wouldn’t matter if it was,” she says, and turns her attention to the television.

Steve laughs in all the right places. He’s into it; she knew he’d appreciate both Aang’s sense of humor and his dedication to his mission, as well as the slapstick interplay of the two male characters. Natasha watches Steve’s face closely during the episode when Aang meets someone from his past who has aged while Aang hasn’t; Steve sits still, his face serious after the reveal, but he seems ok. She plays the next episode to dispel any lingering sadness and they both enjoy the Avengers-style mission that the heroes pull off with style. Then she stops the DVD.

“There’s only three seasons and there’s not a bad episode in the bunch. I can leave them here if you want to watch the rest.”

Steve smiles. “I do,” he says. “It’s nice to spend some time with uncomplicated heroes. And it’s pretty sophisticated for a kids’ show.”

Natasha nods. His face has eased, the persistent worry line between his brows softened with laughter. She’s seen his sketchbooks; she thinks he has the kind of face that he’d want to draw if he weren’t the one inside it. She flashes back to how his mouth felt against hers on the escalator, a kiss that barely managed to stay professional even though Steve Rogers is not the type to give his all to a kiss in a public place. She remembers his quick breathing and the bulge in his jeans. His arm around her shoulders feels solid and she thinks of countless tons of rock falling on their heads, stopped by the strength of that arm. She snuggles into him. His shoulders tense. She doesn’t move, waits for him to relax. When he does, she brushes her mouth gently across his.

He pulls back, eyes wide. “Is this about you owing me? Because I won’t have that.”

“Not everything is about my ledger,” she says. “Sometimes I just want to feel good.” She tilts her head. “Don’t you?”

“And that’s what this is?” He’s tense again, but hasn’t pulled away.

Natasha gives him her most bland face. “Should it be something else?”

Steve swallows, and she wonders if she’s misread the situation. He’d come of age during wartime; surely he understood seizing pleasure the rare times it appeared.

“You liked the kiss on the escalator,” he says. It’s not a question.

“I don’t fall in love, Rogers.” _Anymore,_ she thinks. The knowing look he gives her makes her wonder who he’s talked to, because she knows nothing crossed her face.

He exhales heavily. “I’m not sure I can, now.” His eyes search hers. Natasha doesn’t know what he hopes to find, so she offers another piece of the truth: the warmth he kindles in her chest, the interest she has in his body. “So not love, then,” he says. “But. A respectful and friendly, um, interaction. That works for me.”

“As long as it’s smokin’ hot,” Natasha says, deadpan.

Steve grins. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue,” he says.

She quirks a brow. “Oh?”

She expects him to blush a bit, perhaps to smile shyly. Instead he twists his fingers in her hair and pulls her mouth to his, his grip firm and perfect. His thumbs rest against her jaw and she doesn’t forget for a second that he could crush her face between his hands. On the escalator, their mingled breath held the bitter flavor of nervousness, but tonight he’s delicious and Natasha wants to lick into his mouth.

Steve leads the kiss, his full, soft lips moving over hers with an expertise she’d never have predicted. She opens her mouth and his tongue strokes gently inside. It sets her nerves alight and she tells him with a quick, unfeigned gasp. He drops one hand to her hip, pulls her closer. She grasps his bicep hard. They kiss a moment longer and then he pulls back, both of their breathing unsteady.

“Damn, Rogers. You’ve got moves,” she says. Her body feels pleasantly wound up and she wants more.

“For Pete’s sake, call me Steve.”

Natasha laughs.

He bites his lip. “You’ll say something if you change your mind.”

“Do you really believe I wouldn’t?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, of course not. I just—“

Natasha presses her finger to his mouth, traces its shape. His tongue darts out to taste her skin. She shivers, leans forward to nibble at his bottom lip, and they are kissing again, their mouths sliding together hungrily and without finesse. Steve’s hand slides slowly but confidently up her ribcage and she’s grateful that he’s not the bashful, inexperienced man of Tony’s jokes. His palm covers her breast and he inhales sharply; she knows he can feel everything through the thin top. Her nipples tighten.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer. She’s nearly in his lap but at an awkward angle so she shifts to straddle him. She enjoys his husky groan so much that she wriggles in his lap to hear it again. Their pajamas offer no impediment; the firm ridge of his erection presses against all the right places. He kisses her for ages, leaving her mouth only to graze his teeth against her neck or behind her ear, never ceasing his slow undulations beneath her. She writhes when his fingers tug at her hair, moans when they play against her breasts.

Natasha gives as good as she gets: setting her teeth into the junction of his shoulder and neck; pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the base of his throat; running her nails along his chest. Steve grabs her hips, thrusts up, and she knows she could make him come this way. She considers it, just for kicks, but he stills. His eyes have gone dark, his pupils blown.

“I want— I want too much to even decide,” he says, “but I definitely don’t want to come before we’ve even gotten our clothes off.” His voice is rough.

Natasha smiles, crosses her arms and slides out of her top. She’s out of her bra in another second and Steve’s eyes widen. His hands rise as though magnetized and they both shiver when they close over her skin. She wants his shirt off, too, but wants him touching her more. He rolls her nipples gently, then harder as she pushes her breasts into his hands. Her back arches in a silent plea. He leans down to capture a nipple in his mouth, flickering his tongue before applying a firm, tight suction. She pants soundlessly.

He takes his time before moving to the other breast. Natasha loses track of how long he works her over, alternating careful biting and sucking with the rougher tugs of his fingers and the rasp of his palm. After a while it’s too much and she stops him, grabbing his wrists. She claws at his shirt. “Off,” she says.

Steve has golden, completely smooth skin, something Natasha has seen few enough times that she spends a moment sliding her hands all over him. She expected his breathtaking musculature; she’s seen his files. That had done nothing to prepare her for the thrill of feeling those muscles flex and stretch under her touch. Natasha leans forward to capture his mouth with hers, relishing the feel of skin on skin. He rubs up and down her back and then reaches into her pajama bottoms to clasp the swell of her ass. She hums with appreciation, pushes herself up to standing. This slides her pajamas down and puts her crotch level with Steve’s face in one swift move.

“Natasha,” he groans, and presses against her pelvis, breathes her in. She steps out of her pajamas and tilts her hips towards him. He dives right in, licking a hard, broad stripe right up the center of her. She quivers. Steve’s jaw rubs against her as his tongue makes her knees feel weak.

“Come down here,” he demands. Natasha does. He throws himself gracelessly off the couch, falling to his knees. He spreads her legs wide, just on the edge of rough, and she moans. He buries his face between her thighs and oh, with some guys, going down is some kind of power play, but not with Steve. With him it’s obviously full-on worship, messy and glorious.

Natasha finds herself clutching his head, grinding against his face. It’s been a long time since she completely lost herself in sensation like this. It’s marvelously different from the careful calculations of mission-sex, and when she comes it will be more than just a quick burst of enjoyment; it will be _real_ , ecstatic and imbued with meaning.

Steve’s hand brushes up her leg, pauses in the crease of her thigh. She tilts her hips in encouragement and he slides a finger carefully inside. It’s thick and warm but just makes her want more. Then he fastens his lips over her clit and sucks. Natasha crests right on the edge, back bowed, struggling to tip over into orgasm. He crooks his finger, presses deep while pulling at her with his mouth, and that’s it. She can orgasm in absolute silence, of course, but Steve deserves to hear how he’s sent her out of her mind with pleasure. Natasha comes with a long wail, bucking up against his mouth as she shudders and shakes. It feels good to let it out.

He keeps his mouth against her during the aftershocks, warm and steady without irritating her sensitized skin, and she slowly realizes from the way his breath huffs through his nose that he’s about to come himself. He thrusts against the couch and then cries out. They rest there a moment, panting, and then he sits back on his heels. The front of his sweats has a wet patch.

“So much for not coming in my pants,” he says. “Damn, Natasha.”

He stands and she watches with appreciation as he walks to the bedroom. She sits up languorously, kicking away her pajama bottoms, and settles herself on the couch. Steve comes back in clean boxer-briefs which do nothing to hide his magnificent ass, and Natasha wonders if he’ll let her do filthy things to it. Possibly that would take them beyond casual sex. She feels wistful for a moment, wondering if she’s made the right choice to keep him at a distance.

“The Smithsonian definitely doesn’t know _that_ about Captain America,” she drawls, and gets the bashful grin and blush she expected earlier.

“I suppose if I’d been thinking about bringing Black Widow to orgasm this might feel like some kind of man-victory.” Steve sits next to her on the couch. “But I like it better that I could make my friend feel good.” He puts his arm around her and she rests against him, more relaxed than she’s been in months. They sit a while, his hand stroking idly against her neck and shoulders, and she’s in no hurry to move. Then his stomach growls.

“Sorry,” he says. “Exertion kicks up my metabolism. There’s a little curry left; want any?”

Natasha says no, but ends up stealing bites from his plate. He offers her the last bit of naan and she eats it from his fingers, drawing his fingertips into her mouth and licking across them. He breathes out shakily. She notices the outline of his cock beginning to press against his underwear. Super serum, Natasha reminds herself. They could have sex all night. She shivers a bit at the thought.

“Are you cold? I could bring you a shirt,” he offers.

“Does nudity make you feel uncomfortable?” she asks.

Steve looks at her, then away. “That’s not exactly the word I would use,” he says with a little smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten dinner with a naked woman.”

“It’s just bodies,” she says, but she doesn’t believe that and she knows he doesn’t either. People have too many feelings about bodies and what they should look like or how they should behave for it to be that simple. Still, she’s comfortable naked and she likes keeping him a little on edge. She eyes his crotch with interest, lets him see her do it, and he squirms a bit. It’s ridiculously endearing.

Steve gives her a shy smile. “I’d really like to kiss you some more. Unless you need to leave?”

There it is, the out. She had planned for one enjoyable bout of string-free sex; if she holds to that, it’s time to go. But he’s such a temptation with those soulful eyes and his damned kindness, not to mention the feast of his strong, taut body and that _mouth_. Natasha finds herself wanting everything.

She straddles him and brings their mouths together. Their bodies have the way of it now: his hands skate along her back as their pelvises align, and despite having had a spectacular orgasm not twenty minutes previous she craves another. The front of his underwear dampens as they rub together.

“So,” he begins, but she’s tracing his ear with her tongue and he has to catch his breath before finishing his sentence. “I haven’t actually done this before.”

Natasha leans back. “What?”

“Intercourse. Haven’t done it.” He looks embarrassed.

“Steve, I had one of my top five orgasms with you earlier. How have you not had intercourse?”

He draws back, rubs his hands absently up and down her arms. “Hey, even skinny guys get lucky sometimes. And oral sex won’t get you pregnant. So.”

“And after?” she asks. “When you were too famous to be a pity fuck?”

Steve shrugs. “I was interested in someone else.”

“Ok,” Natasha says. She shifts around to sit across his lap, since the reduction of pressure in his pants indicates that he’s paying attention to the conversation. “I can buy that, but why not now?”

“It would be a PR nightmare,” Steve says. “Besides, I’ve fallen in love twice, hard, and both of them are gone. Not sure I have it in me to do it again.”

“And you weren’t ready to try sex without love?” Natasha frowns. She thought they had an agreement. She has to trust that he won’t fall in love with her, because she’s unwilling to consider what she might do if he did.

“I wasn’t. But I respect you, Natasha. And I like you.” He presses a hot, quick kiss to her throat. “Not to mention that you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. How could I resist?”

“All right,” she says. “We’re agreed: no mushy stuff. You need to be naked now.”

Steve scoops her up, carries her effortlessly into the bedroom, and sets her down on the bed. She rolls to her side to watch him peel off his underwear. His cock has taken interest in the proceedings again. It’s impressive but not alarmingly so, and his ass should be illegal. “I’ve got condoms in the outer pocket of my bag,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. The sheets felt cool against her skin. “If you go get them I will definitely enjoy the view.” 

Steve flashes her a sideways grin and then sashays into the living room. He’s never struck her as particularly body-shy, but it’s nice to see him with a little strut. He comes back with the condoms and sits next to her on the bed.

“Your file definitely lacked some important details,” Natasha says, palming his erection.

He draws in a breath, hips stuttering in response. “I suppose the entire world has seen my file now,” he says.

She grins, stroking him slowly up and down. "Reconaissance is always better than data alone.” He makes a shaky laugh that ends on a low moan and she’s done with the banter now because he’s gorgeous and arching into her touch and she’s got better things to do. She curls herself around his body and takes him into her mouth, wringing a sound almost like a plea from his throat. His cock is tangy with precum, uncut and thick against her tongue, but she’s never minded the taste.

She takes her time, showing off her own arsenal of tricks, before sucking him in earnest, and he throws his head back, rasps out her name. When she trails her fingers over his balls and then down, skating against the tender, puckered skin behind, his skin breaks out in gooseflesh.

“Too good,” Steve says. “Give me—” He makes a broken, breathy sound. “A minute.”

Natasha pulls off with a sloppy, wet noise but keeps her hand wrapped around him. His cock is hot, throbbing in her grip, the head a rich purple-red color. She licks her lips. “You’re quite the specimen,” she says, and he laughs. His breathing evens a bit and she sees him ease down from his impending orgasm.

“Shall I…?” she asks. In response, he flips her over, slides her to the edge of the bed and kneels between her legs. This isn’t usually how things go, but there’s no way she’s going to object. Steve’s mouth is on her in the next instant and she settles into the broad, firm strokes of his tongue. When he slides two fingers inside, crooking them as he thrusts, Natasha feels that shining edge of pleasure just out of reach.

“Stop,” she gasps. “Inside me. Now.”

Steve pulls back, wipes his mouth against the sheets. “Should I wash my face?” he asks, and it’s such a Steve question it warms her heart. Natasha points at the condom on the nightstand in answer. He’s a bit clumsy putting it on but it’s only a moment before he stands between her thighs. His skin feels feverish against her and she’s more than ready but he spends long moments rubbing his cock over her clit, pressing it just inside her entrance and then out again.

“Have you been reading sex articles or something?” she asks. Her voice is steady but she can hear an edge of entreaty in it.

“No,” he says. “I’ve just had a really long time to think about it.”

He rubs against her again. At last, he grasps the curve of her ass, lifts, and slides inside on a slow push that steals her breath. He’s big, delightfully so, and Natasha savors the stretch of it. He leans in, mouth open and wet as he kisses her desperately. The angle of their bodies feels great but he’s too tall to get the kind of leverage she wants; she hangs half off the bed, legs clasped around him, and his knees are bent awkwardly. Before she can say anything he tucks one arm under her and braces himself on the bed with the other, moving them up onto the mattress, obviously unaffected by their combined weight. It’s ridiculously hot.

Steve goes slow, which drives her crazy, gliding in and out as though he wants to memorize every second of it. Natasha doesn’t begrudge him taking special care on his first time but she can only take the glorious torture of it it for so long. “I promise we can do this again,” she says. “Tonight, even. You need to fuck me now.”

Steve makes a guttural sound and Natasha decides to see how much dirty talk he can take, some other time that isn’t now when he’s finally thank god driving into her, his pelvis bumping up against her clit as he rubs all the right places inside. His thrusts are just shy of pounding and she writhes with the feel of it. Natasha realizes how much her body trusts him when she notices she’s making her real sex noises, the undignified whimpers, ragged cries, and Russian curses so different from her perfected arsenal of mission-sex vocalizations. Steve’s pretty loud himself, the same kinds of sounds as when he’s fighting but a thousand times better; and Natasha is thinking about him fighting off their enemies and feeling his incredible strength surrounding and filling her; and she’s coming, clenching tight around him with her arms and legs and every muscle on the inside.

“Natasha,” he shouts, and he presses her so hard into the bed she can’t breathe. She suspects her hips might bruise but she doesn’t care: it’s everything she imagined to have Steve Rogers wrecked with pleasure and dripping with sweat above her. He lifts his torso off hers almost immediately but continues to pant for long moments before he throws his body down beside her. Natasha skims her fingers over his chest gently. He looks boneless and easy, relaxed in a way she’s never seen. He draws her close. It’s nice to be held by someone she likes so she lets him snuggle her a bit, exchanging a few languid kisses, before she gets up.

Natasha pads to the bathroom, pauses in the doorway to look coquettishly over her shoulder and, yes, Steve’s looking at her ass and his eyes have darkened. “I see that you’re on board with this mission, Rogers,” she says.

“We’re going to need more take-out,” he replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Unconsciously inspired by the song ["When the World Ends" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bQJSpQbwvc)by Dave Matthews, remixed by Oakenfold for the Matrix movies. I wasn't thinking about the song when I wrote this fic, but when I happened to hear it I realized that it applies perfectly to the emotions I imagine Steve and Natasha to have in this story. Plus, it's a great song; if you haven't heard it, consider checking it out!


End file.
